Things I Never Told You, page 10
A new mural covered the left wall, an impressionistic blur of athletic figures representing football, basketball, track and cross-country, tennis—and yes, even volleyball—all against a backdrop of Pikes Peak. Up front, photos splashed across a video screen. A high school moment frozen in time paired with a current image of the same person. Some faces I only recognized because of the name written across the bottom of the picture.
Zachary Gaines appeared on the screen, all of seventeen or eighteen, long-legged and lanky, coming around the curve during a cross-country meet, sweat matting his hair to his forehead, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips. And then a second photo of Zach today, a profile shot of him. Older. Weary. Worn.
A few more faces flashed by and then . . . one painfully familiar. Pepper, frozen in midair, arms raised as she blocked the opposing team’s ball. No other photo. Just Pepper, forever sixteen.
That photo had been taken during our last high school volleyball season, Pepper and I rotating in and out of the game, but my sister was the one who racked up blocks and who was surrounded by news reporters afterward.
“Do you like the photo I selected of Pepper?” My former high school volleyball coach knelt beside my chair.
“That’s when we won state.” I forced myself to pin on the obligatory so-thrilled-to-be-here smile. “Pepper would be glad you chose that one, Coach.”
“Coach? After all these years?” She leaned in to give me a hug. “Just call me Sydney.”
“You’ll always be Coach to me.” I easily looked past the way the last decade had added a few lines around Sydney’s eyes and saw the vivacious twentysomething woman who had influenced both Pepper and me in so many ways. “Love your blonde hair.”
“Just having some fun.” Sydney leaned back on her heels. “Thanks for being here.”
“As if I could tell the woman who made me do wall sits and circuit training no.”
“That was a long time ago.” Her voice turned serious. “How are you?”
“Doing great.”
“I know this is hard for you. I appreciate you being here.”
“Like I said, can’t say no to my high school coach.” It was best to keep things light. “So I checked out your club online. Your eighteens team made it to nationals last year!”
“Yep. I was so proud of those girls. They earned that.” Sydney’s smile lit up her eyes. “Club Brio. My life is still all about volleyball—and now my husband and kids, of course. Let me know if you ever want to coach . . .”
Her words caused me to lean away, even as I tried to laugh them off. She couldn’t be serious. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I’d left those dreams behind years ago. Had no right to them. “I don’t think so. Festivities keeps me busy enough, and I haven’t been on a volleyball court since . . . since high school.” Nash slipped his hand into mine, his presence a welcome diversion. “Sydney, this is Nash, my boyfriend.”
“Nice to meet you.” Sydney shook hands with Nash. “I left my husband home with the kids. Easier that way.”
“Any future volleyball players in the family?” I had no problem talking about volleyball, so long as the topic wasn’t focused on me.
“Of course. Dale—that’s my husband—played soccer, so he’s hoping for soccer players. Either way, we’re a sports family.” Sydney rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “You ready for the presentation?”
“Absolutely. A couple of minutes is all you wanted, right?”
“Right. Just come up front when I do, okay?”
“Will do.”
As Sydney left, Zach Gaines glanced my way from where he patrolled the edge of the gym like some sort of self-appointed security guard. Was the guy going to pace around the room until it was time for him to accept his award? Did he think staring at me would get me to change my mind?
“Who were you talking to?” Johanna’s sharp whisper jerked my attention away from Zach and back to my family. Were they all staring at me, waiting for an answer?
“You mean Coach Sydney?”
Johanna almost looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes at me. “No. The guy.”
“Just someone I . . . someone Pepper and I knew in high school. He’s another honoree today.”
“He looks familiar. Do I know him?”
“Johanna, you graduated from high school years before we did. No, you don’t know him.”
I could only hope my reply prevented my sister from making the connection between Zach and the Gaines family and the spring break party ten years ago. The news coverage had been brief. My parents’ overwhelming grief back then had kept them from placing blame on anyone. Pepper’s death was a tragic accident—no one was to blame. Honoring her tonight might be enough to distract them from the past and present colliding, causing them to recognize Zach.
I ended the conversation by twisting away from her, leaning across Nash, and focusing on Jillian. “How are you feeling?”
It was wrong to use Jillian as a diversionary tactic against Johanna—especially when she was only a couple of weeks postsurgery. And Jillian was probably tired of people asking how she felt. Her pale face and slow movements indicated her tiredness and pain. But Jillian being Jillian, she wouldn’t admit it.
“I’m fine. A little sore, but the surgeon warned me about that.”
“You could have stayed home. Everyone would have understood—”
“I’m fine, Payton. Besides, all I’m doing is sitting here. Once it’s over, Geoff’s taking me home. I wanted to be here.” She leaned back into Geoff’s embrace. “I know you’ll do a good job up there.”
And now Jillian was encouraging me, not even aware that I’d been using her, even if it had only been in a small way. It seemed I was destined to fail, over and over, at my relationships with my sisters.
But then again, just like Jillian, I’d shown up. I’d do what needed to be done and then retreat to the safety of my home until the next time family demanded something more of me, something that pulled me from the safety of the neutral zone.
I’d followed Sydney’s instructions. Waited as the other former athletes were honored, including Zach Gaines. Waited for the brief slide show highlighting Pepper’s volleyball accomplishments—all the records she’d set. Walked up as Coach Sydney came forward with a framed number 11 volleyball jersey—just like Pepper used to wear. Stood beside her as she announced the number would be retired and the jersey hung in the gym. And then, at last, I was alone in front of everyone.
All of them waiting for me to say something about my twin sister.
I gripped the sides of the podium, swallowing against the stinging dryness in my throat. I pressed my lips together, heat coursing up my neck. I needed water. Even more, I needed the words that had escaped from my mind. To my left, someone shifted in their seat—Nash, offering me a brief nod and a smile. Although I had my doubts about him, about our relationship, he was always there for me—even when I didn’t want him to be.
“Good evening.” My voice rasped in my ears. How awful that must sound magnified through a microphone. “I’m Payton Thatcher, Pepper’s twin sister. . . .”
Wait. Sydney had already said that. Why was I repeating her?
I fought to calm my erratic breathing, opening and closing my hands to try to stop them from tingling. Had someone lowered the lights in the room?
“My family . . . my family wanted to say . . .” Again, motion in the room caught my attention. Who was walking around?
A tall, slender female paced the back of the room, her braid swishing against her back.
“Pepper . . .” The whisper of her name fell from my lips into the silence filling the room. My vision blurred and I blinked. That couldn’t be Pepper. . . . I only saw her when I was sleeping. Was this just another dream?
No. I was awake. But when I tried to talk, to say the words I’d rehearsed, my throat closed up like it had the time Pepper and I both had strep and lived on Jell-O for a week. I shoved away from the podium, bumping against Sydney so that she almost dropped the framed jersey. “I’m sorry . . . sorry . . .”
I skirted around the tables, ignoring whoever called my name—most likely Johanna—and exited the gym. The hallway was empty, another entrance to the girls’ locker room was nearby.
Where was she? If she’d come here, why hadn’t she waited for me? I was wide-awake, ready to talk. To answer any of her questions.
My heels echoed on the tile floor in the hallway, and I slipped as I pushed into the darkened locker room, the wooden door crashing against the wall. “Pepper! Pepper, where are you?”
My voice ricocheted against the rows of lockers even as I slammed my hand against a mirror, my breathing uneven. I stumbled farther into the room, then dropped to the floor and crawled to one of the shower stalls, backing into a corner. Pulling my knees up against my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs, trying to stop my body from shaking.
“Oh, God, oh, God . . .”
The words were useless. I didn’t believe in God . . . any god. Didn’t talk to any kind of deity or higher power who supposedly listened or cared or watched me from a distance. God was only good for children’s songs and books . . . for fueling heated debate around the dinner table . . . for changing the people you thought you knew best . . .
I needed to get back to the ceremony, but I couldn’t make my arms relax. Thoughts of should and can’t collided in my head, causing me to press my body harder into the corner of the shower. The faint scent of ammonia surrounded me. At least the shower was clean. Surely someone would come looking for me. Sometime. Or maybe I could pull myself together. But when I opened my eyes, the room seemed to sway in front of me, causing me to drop my head to my knees.
“Payton? Where are you?”
Of course it would be Johanna who searched me out. I sat silent. She’d find me soon enough without any help.
Her steps echoed in the silence, growing louder as she came closer. At last the lights clicked on and the pointed tips of her black high heels appeared in front of me. “What are you doing in the shower?”
No “Are you okay?” or “How can I help you?” Johanna the Good, who probably fell asleep at night and slept in sweet, dreamless peace, stood in the opening to the shower, sounding as horrified as if she’d found me naked and soaking wet.
“I . . . I needed to get away—”
“Payton, you went completely mental out there. I didn’t know if you were going to faint or start spouting off gibberish. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Everyone saw something happen.”
“Do you expect me to go out and explain myself, Johanna? Is that why you’re here?”
“No—”
“Well, I know you’re not here because you’re worried about me.” I struggled to suck in a deep breath, my chest tight. “Let’s not pretend this is anything more than you trying to control the situation again.”
“Really, Payton? You’re attacking me when you’re the one who made Pepper’s ceremony all about you?”
I struggled to my feet, my hand slipping against the tiled wall. If I was going to fend off my sister’s attack, I needed to be upright, not tempted to curl up in a ball on the shower floor. “Right. That was my plan all along. Stage a breakdown and steal the attention—”
“And now you’re going to argue with me—”
“Did I ask you to come in here?” I pushed away from the wall, Johanna’s appearance balancing me on a teeter-totter of emotions. Reality still seemed tissue-paper thin, but Johanna’s accusations sliced through me as sharp as a razor. “No.”
I shoved past her, stumbling toward the exit.
“Where are you going?”
“As if you care.” I yanked open the door, coming to a halt when I found Nash waiting on the other side.
“Payton, what on earth happened?”
I gripped his arm. “Just take me home. Please, Nash. Just take me home.”
13
I NEEDED SPACE. Privacy.
I needed to get out of Nash’s car and into my town house—without him following me.
“Payton, I’m worried about you.” Nash leaned across the console, causing me to press farther into the passenger seat. Too close. He brushed the back of his hand against my cheek. “Talk to me.”
He’d been kind enough to let me ride almost all the way home in silence, not even turning on the radio to search for mood music. What kind of mood was this, anyway? Near nervous breakdown? But now his desire to take care of me, to hover, had overtaken him, backing me into a corner.
“Nash, please . . .” I forced myself not to turn away from his touch.
“I love you. Let me help you.”
“This isn’t your issue. This . . . this is family stuff.”
He tried to hold my hand and I couldn’t hide how my fingers trembled. “Babe, you have to know that I want—”
“Please . . . I’m not up to talking.” I twisted my hand away from his, searching for the keys in my purse. My front door was mere steps away. Behind it—silence. Darkness. Isolation.
And please, no Pepper.
“Why do you keep shoving me away?” Nash fell back against the seat, providing me a little extra room.
“We’re doing this now?” I sucked in a breath, and the faint scent of ammonia stung my nose. Where was that odor coming from?
“I didn’t know we had to ‘do’ anything.” Nash leaned forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “I thought we were in a relationship—a relationship with a future. Something permanent.”
“Did I ever say that?” I fumbled with the door handle.
“Payton, we’re good together—you have to see that.”
“What I see is you jumping to conclusions about us based on what you want. When have I indicated that I want more in our relationship?”
Why was he pushing me now? When he acted like this, he seemed no different from Johanna. Determined to get his way. Ignoring my feelings. Steamrolling over what I was saying because he knew better.
Why hadn’t I seen this before? I thought Nash cared, really cared about me, but his words—the way they clutched and clawed for more—seemed to rake against my skin.
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said the last few months?” Nash’s voice rose as if he could convince me by talking louder, faster. “I’m not just fooling around here. . . .”
Now I almost wished Johanna were here. Talk about making a situation about himself. I pushed the door open, the smoky scent from someone’s chimney wafting into the car. “Thank you for the ride home, Nash. And thank you for making it easy to say this. We’re done.”
“What?” Nash bolted out of the car, not bothering to close his door. “You don’t mean that. You’re just stressed—”
“Yes, I’m stressed—and if you really understood that, you wouldn’t be talking about you . . . me . . . us—any of this.” I hiked my purse over my shoulder, the keys cutting into the palm of my hand. “I’m done. And not just for tonight. We’re done.”
When Nash grabbed me by the arm, I whirled around, reeling off-balance for a moment as the ground rolled beneath my feet. In my brittle state, he might as well have slapped me. “Do not touch me. I said I was done and I meant it.”
“You’re being irrational.”
“Fine. I’m irrational. And I still meant what I said. We’re over.” Nash would not touch me again. He was always grasping for more . . . always wanting things from me that I just couldn’t give him.
My hands were shaking so badly that it took three tries to even get the key into the lock.
“Payton—”
I stumbled backward after slamming the door. Some people might say shutting the door on Nash was unfeeling, even harsh. Not true. It was more an act of desperation than one of cruelty, coupled with the hope that separating myself from him would also stop the tingling in my hands, the tightening in my throat.
The hope that my world would right itself again.
I kicked off my shoes, leaving them in front of the door. Threw my purse on the couch, causing a pillow to fall to the floor. Ignored how Nash pounded on the front door.
“I’m going to bed.” The words, spoken out loud, tumbled into the darkness. “I’m going to bed—to sleep.”
I marched up the stairs to my bedroom, into the continued shifting shadows caused by the play of streetlights and moonlight coming through the window. There was no need to turn on any lights. I knew my way around the house and had no fear of bumping into an end table or wall. As far as furniture was concerned, my house took minimalist to the level of Spartan. It wasn’t about determining which things brought joy in life. I just didn’t care, paring my belongings to the bare necessities.
If only I could maintain control of my emotions, but I couldn’t seem to will myself to be okay. Instead, my thoughts careened into one another, knocking me off-balance.
I fell across the bed, curling my knees up to my chest, pulling the corner of the blanket across my body, burrowing my face into the pillow. “Don’t bother me, Pepper. I don’t want to see you. I just want to sleep. . . .”
My words were muffled, but surely if my sister lurked nearby, she’d obey my demand and leave me alone.
“It looks nice, doesn’t it?”
I turned in a half circle, trying to get my bearings. Why was I always trying to figure out where I was? Where Pepper was? “What? What looks nice?”
“The jersey. I like where they hung it.”
Pepper stood, her back to me, hands on her hips, staring up at her framed volleyball jersey that now hung over a row of bleachers on the north side of the gym. “Me. Zachary Gaines. Pete Jenkins. Paula Ferrell . . . Who knew back then we’d all be celebrated by the high school? Of course, I’m the only one whose number was retired. Couldn’t have gotten all those records without the team.”
That was my sister. Somehow she could manage to sound humble even when she bragged on herself. I nudged her in the ribs. “Hey! You’re wearing your jersey.”
“So? This is a dream, right? They hang one up, I can still wear one.”
